


Overworked

by Anonymous



Category: Back to the Future: The Game
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Situational Humiliation, Urination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-09 07:11:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10406691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Emmett spends a little too long working on a project of his, and ends up really needing to use the bathroom. He can't get up, however, and needs Marty to help him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> If anything about this offends you, _**please turn back now**_. You've been warned.

Ten hours. He’s been working on this thing for ten hours, a good chunk of which was spent wrestling various parts into place. Some time around the five-and-a-half-hour mark, Marty had come in to check on him and tell him he needed to “take a break already, I’m pretty sure working like that can’t be healthy.” Emmett had made some kind of noise in compliance, telling Marty he’d be done in a minute. He’d actually meant it, sort of; the task of getting the wires neatly into place was proving to be damn near impossible, and he couldn’t get the rest of his construction put together if the wires were in the way. So, it looked like Emmett was going to be taking that break after all, at least to refresh his mind and figure out how to put the rest of the damn thing together.

Then, inspiration struck.

In turning his construction this way and that, Emmett had noticed one piece that could be moved, thus giving him the needed space for all the wiring. Meaning he could actually finish his project. All thoughts of taking any kind of break fled his mind as he plowed through his work.

Now he sits at his workbench in triumph, proud of having gotten the whole thing together by himself. The warm swell of pride doesn’t last long, unfortunately, as another sensation starts to edge to the front of his consciousness. He’d been so engrossed in his work, he outright ignored certain demands his body made, like the need for sleep, or the need to relieve himself. The first had been conquered easily enough with coffee, a habit Marty had gotten him started on. The second, he’d been about to take care of it when Marty checked in on him. Of course, _then_ he’d hit pay dirt, and that particular urge had faded into the background.

It’s now back with a vengeance, however.

Emmett bounces his leg and presses his hands against his thighs, hunching over a little in discomfort. Chugging coffee to stay alert had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now he’s cursing himself for being so single-minded. The pressure in his bladder is tight and oppressive, bordering on pain. Thinking about the distance he has to walk from the garage to the house, let alone the bathroom, nearly makes it worse, but he at least has to try.

When the pressure seems like it’s let up a little, he stands up… and immediately has to sit back down again when it feels like all the liquid in his bladder wants to rush out. _I suppose the external pressure from me sitting here is the only thing keeping me from making a mess_ , he thinks miserably. The sound of footsteps near the garage door closest to the house startles him, making him squeeze his thighs tighter together. He really doesn’t want anyone to see him like this, especially not his parents. If it’s Marty, well, Marty might scold him, but that’s a slightly less embarrassing option.

“Marty, is that you?” he calls out.

“Yeah. I’m checking up on you again, since you didn’t listen to me when I came out here before.”

Emmett sure regrets _that_ decision.

“Are you done with whatever it is you’re working on yet?”

Emmett makes an effort to disguise the stress in his voice before answering. “Ah, yes, I finished that up not too long ago.” He hesitates before what he says next, practically drowning in embarrassment. “Now, I’m afraid I require assistance with an entirely different matter.”

Marty’s attention ratchet’s up a little when he hears the strain in Emmett’s voice.

He has to creep around several piles of stuff before the back of his friend comes into view. Judging by Emmett’s hunched up posture, he can immediately tell something’s wrong. Marty strides over to him quickly and puts a hand on his shoulder. He’s about to ask Emmett what he needs help with, when he gets a good look at him.

Emmett is blushing high on his cheeks, with his eyes shut tight, and biting his lip. Marty’s about to ask him what’s wrong when his eyes drift down to Emmett’s lap and he realizes _exactly_ what the problem is.

“Jesus, Emmett, really?” Marty says in exasperation. Emmett’s given up all sense of propriety and is grabbing his crotch tight to keep from pissing himself.

Emmett huffs in annoyance and shrugs him off. “Marty, _please_ , just get me a bucket or something!”

If he were the petty type, Marty might’ve let him suffer a bit as payback for not listening earlier. Instead, he pats Emmett on the back in sympathy before heading off towards the most promising-looking pile of junk.

He hunts around for what feels like forever, with Emmett calling out to him to hurry up every now and then, but every bucket he finds is either too small, full of holes, or already holding something. Finally, he finds one that should do the trick.

“Found one!” Marty calls out, and rushes back over to his desperate friend. Emmett’s already furiously working on the zipper of his fly when Marty gets there.

Emmett frantically jerks the slider of his zipper up and down, eyes widening in horror. “Marty? Marty, it won’t open!”

Marty watches him screw around with his zipper for a few more moments before knocking his hands away and giving it a try. It’s difficult to work with one hand holding the bucket and Emmett still pressing his legs together. Marty convinces him to open them just a little bit, promising he’ll work quickly. Emmett complies, and lets his thighs part only just enough to give Marty space to work. He stiffens up, back ramrod straight to keep from losing control.

Marty takes his time and manages to ease the zipper down in one smooth movement. He can feel Emmett jolt a little when he reaches for the waistband of his underwear.

He barely gets Emmett’s dick clear of his fly before the poor boy’s pissing into the bucket like a racehorse. The sound of it splashing against the inside of the bucket is impossible to ignore, as is Emmett’s low moan of relief. Marty realizes belatedly that Emmett has “marked” his hand a little, but he’s too shocked by the absurdity of the whole situation to even think about being disgusted. Even if he weren’t, one look at Emmett’s face (wavering between sordid relief and abject horror) tells him it would be a bad idea to overreact.

Minutes seem to pass before Emmett finishes, and neither boy really knows what to say to the other. Marty gets him tucked away and is about to leave when he hears Emmett quietly thank him. It takes Marty a minute to find his voice.

“Yeah, no problem! I mean, what are friends for, right?” He doesn’t think his attempt at levity worked too well, so he leaves to dump the bucket out before Emmett can say anything else.


End file.
